I'll caveat the whole of this business by admitting that I had vowed not to blog. But there are so many concerned friends and darling well-wishers that it's clearly easier to do some kind of "state of the nation" that everyone can tune into on their own time (oh, and that I don't have to repeat over and over.)
Anyhoo....the last couple of days have been stressful. I went into Providence late on Tuesday to have a port put into my chest. The procedure was to take only an hour and the instruction to the surgeon was to leave the needle in so that the nurse at the oncology clinic wouldn't have to dig around to get access the next day. My surgeon, as it turns out, does not believe in doing this. And my only opportunity to debate the issue was in the OR in the few minutes before they knocked me out. He closed up the incision and left a big blue pen mark as a target for the nurses. No needle.
I felt OK coming out of the anesthetic - not as great as after the lumpectomy when I was practically euphoric. But OK. They told me to go home and eat Jello, dry toast and apple sauce. I had a steak. Later in the evening my right arm became mysteriously painful to move. Vicadin was my friend that night.
So yesterday I showed up at The Oregon Clinic with my brand new Port (still bloody) and the poor nurses' faces blanched at the sight of its needlelessness. They all (nurses and doctor) commented that my surgeon is the ONLY surgeon that won't do this. And, indeed, it took two pokes with increasingly large needles to get into the artery. Rhett (attentive husband) pointed out that there was a big target mark in blue pen for the nurses to use, but they said that was rather condescending of the surgeon. What do we know? I thought the "poke me here" indicator was kinda handy. Needless to say, I had to have extra Ativan during this bit.
Thence unto the Infusion Room. I sat as far away from anyone else as I could and focussed on Elizabeth. The Golden Age. provided by the clinic on handy mini DVD player. She had a lot of good wigs. She also had to run a country at war, which, I imagine, was very stressful. And no Ativan! Anxiety-management must have been nigh-on impossible in those days. Just get drunk and execute people for distraction?
They dripped anti-nausea meds into me for an hour then the big stuff: two huge tubes of bright red chemicals were pushed into me by the nurse for twenty minutes then one big bag of white chemicals were dripped into me. This takes us to 5:30pm. So, clearly, this is going to be a 3-4 hour process everytime.
Thereafter I felt like I had a chemically hangover. Not unmanageable. I ate some broccoli and fish for dinner and went to bed to watch So You Think You Can Dance which, actually, post chemo, is really a crap show. Maybe chemo will show me the truth.
I felt, and continue to feel, a bit like I have minor indigestion and there's a tingly sensation in my hands and around my face which is subsiding as time goes one. I have to go back this afternoon for a shot of something that will help get my white cell count back up. I also have to remember to take additional meds around lunchtime today.
All this for someone who rarely ever took Advil.
Anyhoo....the last couple of days have been stressful. I went into Providence late on Tuesday to have a port put into my chest. The procedure was to take only an hour and the instruction to the surgeon was to leave the needle in so that the nurse at the oncology clinic wouldn't have to dig around to get access the next day. My surgeon, as it turns out, does not believe in doing this. And my only opportunity to debate the issue was in the OR in the few minutes before they knocked me out. He closed up the incision and left a big blue pen mark as a target for the nurses. No needle.
I felt OK coming out of the anesthetic - not as great as after the lumpectomy when I was practically euphoric. But OK. They told me to go home and eat Jello, dry toast and apple sauce. I had a steak. Later in the evening my right arm became mysteriously painful to move. Vicadin was my friend that night.
So yesterday I showed up at The Oregon Clinic with my brand new Port (still bloody) and the poor nurses' faces blanched at the sight of its needlelessness. They all (nurses and doctor) commented that my surgeon is the ONLY surgeon that won't do this. And, indeed, it took two pokes with increasingly large needles to get into the artery. Rhett (attentive husband) pointed out that there was a big target mark in blue pen for the nurses to use, but they said that was rather condescending of the surgeon. What do we know? I thought the "poke me here" indicator was kinda handy. Needless to say, I had to have extra Ativan during this bit.
Thence unto the Infusion Room. I sat as far away from anyone else as I could and focussed on Elizabeth. The Golden Age. provided by the clinic on handy mini DVD player. She had a lot of good wigs. She also had to run a country at war, which, I imagine, was very stressful. And no Ativan! Anxiety-management must have been nigh-on impossible in those days. Just get drunk and execute people for distraction?
They dripped anti-nausea meds into me for an hour then the big stuff: two huge tubes of bright red chemicals were pushed into me by the nurse for twenty minutes then one big bag of white chemicals were dripped into me. This takes us to 5:30pm. So, clearly, this is going to be a 3-4 hour process everytime.
Thereafter I felt like I had a chemically hangover. Not unmanageable. I ate some broccoli and fish for dinner and went to bed to watch So You Think You Can Dance which, actually, post chemo, is really a crap show. Maybe chemo will show me the truth.
I felt, and continue to feel, a bit like I have minor indigestion and there's a tingly sensation in my hands and around my face which is subsiding as time goes one. I have to go back this afternoon for a shot of something that will help get my white cell count back up. I also have to remember to take additional meds around lunchtime today.
All this for someone who rarely ever took Advil.
2 comments:
"They told me to go home and eat Jello, dry toast and apple sauce. I had a steak."
That'a girl! This is why we love Bex.
I think disdain alone may prove to be your greatest tool. You are amazing!
CM
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